


none has understood you, but i understand you

by thymelord



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (for centuries), Anal Sex, BDSM, Bloodplay, Blowjobs, Bondage, Confessions, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Episode: s03e12 The Sound of Drums, Infidelity, It's a bit fucked up, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not quite Dead Dove territory though, Realisations, Restraints, Rough Sex, nonconsensual voyeurism, pretty sure the Master is secretly a vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymelord/pseuds/thymelord
Summary: The Doctor never could resist him.Not even now, imprisoned on the Valiant with a hundred reasons to hate him.





	none has understood you, but i understand you

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever just get really horny over david tennant and john simm at 4am and write smut because same  
> also i couldn’t decide what to call this so i opened Leaves of Grass at a random page because that’s how i roll and it was "To You" which had some mad thoschei lines in it. thank u God you know me well. 
> 
> anyways this is mildly dubious consent because the Doctor is a bit torn at the beginning but the Master gives him a chance to say no and he doesn't. there's also noncon voyeurism because the Master makes Martha watch at the beginning. i'm fucked up, bite me.

Two things were currently at the forefront of the Doctor’s mind.

They were probably not the two things he should be thinking about right now, but brains never really did work the way one wanted them to, did they?

The first thing: he was about to fuck a married man, something that would have been absolutely untenable to him before.

The second thing: the fact that he was married was pretty much at the bottom of the Doctor’s list of Reasons Why He Really, Absolutely Should Not Be Fucking This Man. The other reasons included included “he’s a genocidal maniac”, “he’s pretty much going to kill the entire human race”, “he just put me in chains and imprisoned me,” and then, at the very top of the list, “he is _the Master.”_

From a logical point of view, which was the only point of view a Gallifreyan should entertain, the Doctor should refuse. He should recoil; he should be disgusted.

But instead, at the barest touch of the Master’s lips against his cheek, he was straining in his chains _towards_ him, aching for him as though they were both youths at the Academy all over again.

He never could resist him.

Never.

“Stop,” he whispered as the Master’s hands went to the top button of his shirt.

The Master stilled. “You want me to stop?” he asked, voice taking on a mocking edge. “Do you?” The very tip of his finger caressed the side of the Doctor’s neck. _“Do you?”_

The Doctor’s breathing was laboured, shaky. He was silent as the Master’s hand ghosted across his groin, and his hips involuntarily canted forwards. “Tell me you want me to stop,” demanded the Master, snatching his hand always from him, and the Doctor let out na involuntary groan of frustration.

“I…” gasped the Doctor, “I… I -”

“Yes?” prompted the Master, eyes flicking over the straining bulge in the Doctor’s trousers. “What do you want, _Theta?”_

“You.” The word was choked out, as though the Doctor hated himself for saying it, but couldn’t do anything _but_ say it. “Koschei - ”

The Master slapped him, and he groaned. “My name is the Master,” he snarled. He pulled out a pair of scissors from the inside of his blazer pocket, and began to cut at his shirt. The Doctor’s eyes closed, neck arching backwards. “What’s my name?”

“Master,” gasped the Doctor, “you’re the Master.”

The last of the Doctor’s shirt shreds fell to the floor as the Master’s hand lightly encircled his throat, the other starting to wield the scissors on his trousers. “What else?”

The Doctor blinked uncomprehendingly, gaze hazy with lust. “I don’t -”

The hand at his throat pressed down slightly. “Whose Master am I?”

“Yours,” whispered the Doctor, ringing through the silent room like a gunshot. “You’re my Master.”

There was a horrified gasp from the doorway. The Doctor’s head snapped towards the noise, and he saw the figure of Martha staring at him. He looked back, and glared at the Master accusingly. “What is she doing here?”

This time the Master pressed down hard on the Doctor’s throat. “Don’t question your Master.” He leaned in, lips nearly brushing the shell of his ear. “And I want her to see what kind a man her precious _Doctor_ really is.” He lunged forwards, capturing the Doctor’s lips in a bruising kiss.

“Leave him alone, you sicko!” screamed Martha, starting towards them. The two guards on either side of her tightened their grip on her arms, and she reluctantly stilled.

The Doctor’s head jerked backwards at the sound of her voice. “Oh,” said the Master, “don’t tell me you’re becoming shy all of a sudden? Then again… you never did like an audience. You’ve always hated to be put on _display._ ” He mouthed down the front of the Doctor’s throat, tongue flicking over his Adam’s apple as his hand closed around the Doctor’s cock. Now unrestricted by clothing, it was already hard and swollen, almost perpendicular to his torso.

“F-fuck,” gasped the Doctor, “Master - ”

“What do you want?” he murmured, hand moving agonisingly slowly over his cock. “Tell me what you want, _Doctor.”_ The way he said that, mocking and sharp, made the Doctor realise he was only using his chosen name for Martha’s benefit; the Master wanted to call him Theta, as he’d done before; stripping his power and persona away while remaining the Master himself.

“Take me,” whispered the Doctor. “Master, take me – _please - ”_

“I’ve always loved it when you beg. Especially like _this._ ”

“What have you done to him?” demanded Martha furiously.

“That’s the beauty of it, Miss Jones.” He turned, giving her a maniacal grin. “I haven’t done anything at all.” He clicked his fingers. “Take her away. I wish for privacy.” The guards nodded once, and the door clicked shut behind them.

“I can’t believe you made her watch that,” said the Doctor through gritted teeth.

“Well, she didn’t have to. She could have closed her eyes.”

“That is _not_ the point, Master, and you know it.” 

“And this is _not_ relevant right now, Theta.” He kissed him again, an open-mouthed kiss that coaxed the Doctor’s lips open, their tongues sliding together and the Doctor giving a tiny, soft moan against him. “You’re such a little whore for me, aren’t you?”

The Doctor didn’t respond, his lips searching for the Master, but he was remaining out of reach, a little smirk on his face. “Aren’t you?”

The Doctor looked up at him, eyelids heavy with lust. “Perhaps I am. But you’re a whore for me too, aren’t you?” That dealt him another hard slap around the face, as he knew it would, and as the Master knew he knew it would.

The Doctor gave a grin that looked almost exactly like the sort of grin the Master would give. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The Master picked up the scissors from where he had dropped them on the floor after discarding the Doctor’s clothes. “You’re treading on very thin ice, Theta Sigma.”

The Doctor’s tongue flicked up to wet his top lip. “And what are you going to do about that, _Koschei?”_

The Master flicked the scissors open, pressing one of the blades to the top of the Doctor’s arm. “I’ve told you to _call. Me. Master.”_ The edge pressed into the Doctor’s flesh, creating a tiny bead of crimson. His tongue flicked outwards to catch it, eyes closing in rapture. “There’s nothing quite like the taste of a fellow Time Lord’s blood.”

“You’re such a freak, Koschei.”

“That’s why you like me.” The blade cut into his flesh again, an inch below the first one, and the Doctor let out a groan that was halfway between pain and pleasure. “And don’t _fucking_ call me that.”

“Or what?” said the Doctor with a sly grin. “You’re going to punish me?”

There was a dark glint in the Master’s eye. “You want more, don’t you? This isn’t enough?” He bit down hard on the side of the Doctor’s neck, who let out a gasped whimper that intensified when the Master licked at the blood he’d just drawn.

“I’ve missed this,” he said, his breath like a caress over the Doctor’s skin.

“The touch of a fellow Time Lord?”

“No. _Your_ touch.” He continued to lap at the Doctor’s neck. “My Theta.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, “always yours. And you’re mine. My Koschei. And my Master. When we’re like this, anyway.” Their eyes locked, and they were both momentarily at a loss for words, the knowledge that this was more than just a casual, quick fuck, but a continuation of a complex and volatile relationship that had been fraught with tension, hatred and adoration, and the knowledge that no one understood them but each other, that no one ever had – even before they were the last of their kind, even when there was an abundance of Time Lords in the universe.

The Master fell to his knees, and heard the Doctor give a sharp, shocked intake of breath. He looked up from beneath his eyelashes, amused. “What? You thought I would only _take_?” His tongue ran along the Doctor’s shaft, from his balls to his head, foreskin exposing it completely in his arousal. Haven’t I always been a generous lover?”

“Yes,” admitted the Doctor. “By Rassilon, you have.”

“I love tasting your new regenerations,” said the Master between licks. “It’s such a shame I never got to try your last one.” As his mouth closed back around the Doctor’s length, he ran his finger along the inside of the Doctor’s thigh, a place that seemed to remain constantly sensitive throughout all his incarnations even as his other erogenous zones shifted. Sure enough, he felt the Doctor’s cock twitch slightly against his tongue, feeling a tiny drop of pre-come at the back of his tongue. There was the same distinct aftertaste to it that there was to his blood; a Gallifreyan’s time energy imprint that differed between each person. The Master hadn’t had many other people, let alone other Time Lords, but he’d had enough of them to know that each of their time energies differed in taste. The Doctor was dark, honeyed smoke with the merest hint of salt. He’d tried to taste his own blood, once, but it seemed the tastebuds did not recognise one’s own.

Or at least, he hoped that was the reason, and that he was not actually as tasteless as a mere human.

The Master pulled away, a wicked grin on his face.

“What are you doing?” demanded the Doctor.

“We can’t have you coming too quickly now, can we?”

The Doctor ground his teeth together. “You’re a menace. A fucking _menace.”_

“I thought I was a generous lover?”

“I’m reassessing.”

“You won’t be by the time I’ve finished with you.”  He pulled the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver from his own pocket, enjoying the way the Doctor’s eyes narrowed at the sight of it. He pressed it once, and the Doctor’s restraints fell away. Pressed it again, and the gurney tilted, moving from its vertical position to its horizontal. The Doctor surged upwards, and for one heart-stopping moment, the Master thought he was going to make a run for it. But then he grabbed the Master by his lapels, half-sitting and half-lying down, pulling him on top of him and giving him a searing kiss. It wasn’t long before the Master was unclothed himself.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” the Master growled, turning him over and kicking his legs apart. “Your carefully crafted façade falling away to reveal the _animal_ underneath.” His finger ran down the crack of the Doctor’s arse. “I bet this body is a virgin, hmm?”

“That obvious?”

“Well, it _is_ rare that anyone but me sparks your interest.” He sucked his finger into his mouth, tongue lathering it with saliva before pressing it into the Doctor’s entrance. He clenched reflexively around it, and the corners of the Master’s lips curled upwards in a smile. His middle finger joined it, slowly stretching him while the Doctor moaned into the pillow.

“Take me, Master,” he said. “Take me.”

“As you wish, Theta.” The Master grabbed his blazer jacket from the floor, fishing inside it for a tiny jar of oil and pouring it over his cock. He didn’t put on a lot, just enough not to chafe, as they both liked it.

Neither of them would last long, he knew, so the Master began with hard, punishing thrusts straight from the outset, hand grabbing the Doctor’s hair and pulling.

The Doctor screamed, hips moving against the stretcher, trying to give as much friction to his cock as he could. “Koschei,” he sobbed, “Koschei, oh _fuck -”_ He craned his head around, and knowing what he wanted, the Master kissed him as they came in unison.

The Master hopped to the floor, and began to pull on his clothes. The Doctor grabbed his arm. “Koschei,” he whispered, voice a little slurred from his post-orgasmic haze. “Koschei, stop this. Please. Reverse the Paradox Machine.”

The drums had nearly stopped for one shining moment when he was with him.

If they travelled together, would they stop altogether?

“Fine,” he said before he could stop himself. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is time to stop burning the galaxies and _see_ them instead.” He swallowed. “But the drums – oh, the drums - ”

“We’ll find out what they are,” said the Doctor, hand sliding down his arm to clasp his hand. “We’ll find out, and we’ll stop them. Together.”

“Together,” murmured the Master. “I’ve missed that. Us. As a… _together.”_

“So have I.” The Doctor slid off the bed, his thumb catching a single tear that the Master hadn’t even been aware was rolling down his cheeks until then. “Koschei?”

“Yes, Theta?”

“I forgive you.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr!](https://thymelord.tumblr.com)


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